Relfections upon Gravidity
by IronicNarwhal
Summary: Time seemed to all blur when confined to exile in the Vinkus, left to do nothing but watch the mountains on either side be covered in snow, and then slowly obscured by frosty windows. Elphaba bemoans--and over-dramatizes--pregnancy. Elphaba/Fiyero


A/N: First Wicked fanfic! I'm warning you that it's the book universe, for I haven't seen the musical (We were supposed to go see it in Chicago months ago but then some stuff happened that you guys don't want a recap of.) so if there are differences, I'm just making it known that that's the universe I'm using.

I ship Elphaba/Fiyero. I'm not sure if they have a ship name, or if that is even in the right order. But oh well, as I said; it's my first!! :) Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly enough, I don't own Wicked! It belongs to Gregory Maguire.

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Reflections upon Gravidity

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**Gravidity**: adj. The state of carrying developing young; _A gravid female_.

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The large window was frosted over from winter; if Elphaba opened it and pushed her hand out, she could scrape her hand along it and come back with a peel of frozen perspiration, an inch thick, upon her finger. She didn't, of course, do that for fear of the eventual melting of the frost which would burn her hand. She had, though, asked Fiyero to reach out and scrape some of it away, so she could look out from where she was bedridden until at least later that evening.

But Good Lurline, she was tired of laying in bed! She let out a self-pitying moan and rolled off of her back. The doctor whom had come down last month for a check-up had told her not to lay on her back for fear that it would injure her sensitive internal organs. She sighed, resting her hands on her bloating stomach; unbuttoning those fastenings which were directly over her stomach and resting her hands on her bare skin. The first few months, her stomach had seemed an abnormal appendage that didn't even belong to her body. She was so skinny, said the doctor, that she'd started showing much before she was supposed to at only three months. She kept expecting it to just fall off if she shoved it far enough, and reveal her own, flat—even to the point of being slightly concave—stomach.

Now, however, it looked a bit more like it belonged to her instead of being some huge green prosthetic glued onto her torso. She'd been required to gain quite a few pounds in order to ensure a healthy delivery, and the maids (As well as, curse her, Fiyero's thrice-damned sister Sarima) had spun into a flurry of cooking up hearty meals, full of everything that would encourage the development of fat as if she was a pig destined for the butcher. Or a Pig, for that matter.

She ripped her mind away from that train of thought. She'd promised no more work for the Resistance when she'd married Fiyero, thus becoming Princess of Kiamo Ko, the Arjiki tribe, and ultimately a member of the elite ranking of Vinkun royalty. Especially now that she had entered this delicate situation, Elphaba knew it was important to Fiyero, his family, and the Arjiki people that she be kept safe during this time.

What month was it, anyway? Shouldn't winter be ending by now? She sighed. Time seemed to all blur when confined to exile in the Vinkus, left to do nothing but watch the mountains on either side be covered in snow, and then slowly obscured by frosty windows. Kiamo Ko was beautiful in summer, but a desperately depressing prison in the wintertime.

"Fiyero!" she whined, sitting up slightly and buttoning her robes down again. Her husband had never been out of earshot for the entire seven—eight?—months she'd been pregnant. "Yero, my love, I honestly can't stand this much longer…"

His deep chuckled resonated from the hall, from which direction Elphaba couldn't tell. But she didn't have to ponder much longer for he opened the door and stepped in, sitting by her on the bed and murmuring, "What, Elphie-Fae? My whiney, burdened one?"

Elphaba made a face and said, "I don't _whine_, Yero! I'll attest to _complaining_, in fact I consider it a skill, but I don't _whine._"

Fiyero laughed out loud this time and leaned down to kiss her lips gently. He tugged at her robes, which were in a deep purple—a rich color the threads of which constructed it were only available in this culture to people of high status. He said, "Whose doing is this?"

She hissed, "Sarima," as if cursing and sat up straighter, tossing the covers off to reveal the fabric she was all but drowning in. Completely impossible to walk in, it was a full foot longer than she was tall and had long, billowing sleeves. It fit loosely everywhere. "Look at this thing, love. I can't barely move in it! The fabric doesn't breathe, nor does it allow for any kind of freedom despite how engorged it is. Does she expect me to turn into an Elephant before the pregnancy is over?"

"Or perhaps just a Hippo or Rhino," chuckled Fiyero. "It's traditional Arjiki garb, my Fabala. It doesn't breathe because it doesn't need to in the middle of harsh winter. It's heavy so it will keep you warm in your delicate condition. Though I can't explain its size, I'll admit. I think it must have something to do with comfort."

"I'm not comfortable at all," muttered Elphaba.

"Have you always been this _ornery?_" Fiyero demanded, crawling onto the bed with her and taking her into his arms. "Or is it just your pregnancy?"

"Could be either, I'm not quite sure," Elphaba said, waving her hand in dismissal of the silly question. She sighed in an all-suffering way again. "But honestly, love, I don't think I can handle much more of this! This laying on my side, this not being allowed to be on my feet for more than an hour at a time, this…oh, this clothing!" she said, picking moodily at the robe-like garment again.

"Hush, Elphie," said Fiyero. "I know how annoyed you are to loose the freedom of movement you had. But you'll get it back soon enough."

"Yes, but I'll have a baby to care for and even then I won't be able to go where I please, when I please," Elphaba muttered. "I'll become an introvert—"

"Like you weren't already…"

"Who only stays in the house and cares for babies while getting fatter and fatter."

"I doubt you're going to let that happen," countered Fiyero. "And you're not vain enough to care."

"So say _you_," replied Elphie. "You who stays perfectly fit and trim while I bloat like a balloon." She was lying through her teeth; for her own amusement and to a certain extent Fiyero's. She'd known what was coming to her since Fiyero had discussed with her the prospect of reversing the contraception spell she'd put on herself at the beginning of their marriage. It had taken two woman to perform the counterenchantment—one to do the casting and one to receive. So Elphaba had discussed in detail with Glinda about the decision she'd make. The caster had to fully believe it was in the receiver's best interest for her to reproduce. As she was here, pregnant, she figured Glinda had to believe Elphaba would make some semblance at a good mother. That, or Fiyero would help her where she couldn't help herself.

Elphaba added, "You don't have to be vain to care about your appearance. You just have to value how others see you. And since I became a wife, and a princess as well…I do find myself caring about all that."

"Well, I think you're beautiful," murmured Fiyero. He slid down and unbuttoned her robes, placing his sandy blond head against her green skin. "You're carrying my child."

"You're such a hopeless romantic," whispered endearingly Elphaba, racking her fingers through his hair.

"Perhaps," Fiyero replied vaguely. His large hands were now on her stomach, rubbing small circles into her sensitive skin. He smiled up at her and whispered, "This is why I stayed."

She knew what he was referring to. It was tradition for the Prince to leave Kiamo Ko while the Princess was pregnant; an old practice to keep the Princess out of danger. If the Prince were to be attacked, it would be away from the castle, thus keeping the Princess and potential heir safe. It was a leftover tradition from when the Vinkus had been a land of gruesome revolution and civil war.

Fiyero had early on refused to leave his wife of barely a year when it was realized she was pregnant. They had been planning to send him to the Emerald City, to a suite at the Vinkun embassy—a far cry when Princes would hike out to the mountains and find themselves a nice niche in the side of a foothill to call home for nine months. In hindsight, it was probably because he realized Elphie wouldn't have the willpower to suffer the pregnancy if he wasn't there. But at the time he'd claimed it was high time to break the old, now useless practice and had taken it upon himself to do it. He knew it would still be expected of his own son.

"So you can drape yourself over my stomach like a lapdog?" giggled Elphaba.

"So I can enjoy the last few months alone with my wife for a few _decades_," replied Fiyero, laughing and inching up to kiss her again.

"Well, I can't argue with that," said Elphie. She took a great exhale and his head lifted up and down with her stomach. "Yero, love, button me back up. I'm getting cold."

Fiyero did as asked, chuckling all the while about how just ten minutes ago she was complaining all she could about the warm robes she was adorned in. He rested his head next to hers on the pillow and took her hand in his, kissing the very tips of her delicate, slim fingers.

"Oh stop it," giggled Elphaba, mad with ticklishness. "Don't start something you don't have the desire to finish! Your libido's shot all to hell because of the state I'm in."

"Elphie, I would gladly make love to you if you would let me," Fiyero replied, laughing as well.

"You have to admit, sweet," said Elphaba in a quite tone and quick frequency, as though wanting to get this statement out quickly in mixed company. "The idea of intercourse with our child stuck between us—unborn but nonetheless—is disturbing even to me!"

"Arjiki lore says it promises fertility for many generations to come," countered Fiyero. "And it didn't seem to bother you for a while."

Elphaba sighed, shrugging almost noncommittally. When the bump had first came into existence, Elphaba had had almost detached feelings towards it. She acknowledged it to the extent that it was part of her, and it hurt if she bumped into the counter with it or slept on her stomach. But she hadn't really had any _feelings_ towards it until the unborn child inside began moving. It was then that the reality of it had crashed upon Elphaba's shoulders.

Navigating away from the subject, Elphaba prompted, "Have you thought of names any more?"

"I still like Ael," replied Fiyero, and Elphaba rolled her eyes. They had decided that if it was a girl, Elphaba would name it, and should it be a boy, the same should go for Fiyero. Ael was a Vinkun derivative of Elphelbar, which was the male equivalent of Elphaba. Fiyero added, "And you, love? What do you think?"

"I like Jasleen," replied Elphaba. It was a Munchkinlander name, from _jasen_, meaning vigilance, and _leelen_, which meant spirit. Vigilant spirit. It seemed like a fitting name for a Vinkun Princess. "But about Ael, Yero. Why do you insist upon that? It was bad enough when you suggested Fae for a girl."

"It's tradition for a Arjiki Crown Prince to be a namesake, either of his mother or grandmother. My grandmother was named Fiyra. Atleast I'm slightly more creative, love."

"You and your absoloutly wanky traditions!" cried Elphaba. "I can barely keep up, there are so many of them! But very well, I guess Ael is better than Elphelbar."

"Oh, I knew you would refuse that one straight out," replied Fiyero. "So I didn't even bother."

Elphaba sighed and plopped her head on his chest. She asked, "What day is it, Yero? I've lost track. It's May, right?"

"May," agreed Fiyero.

Elphaba sighed. "In Quadling Country, and Nest Hardings from what I remember of it, it was already well into spring by this time of year."

"Well, Fabala-love, we're much farther north than Ovvels or Nest Hardings. And the mountains turn into tundra this time of year. It'll be gone by late June though."

"Just in time for me to pop," muttered Elphaba.

"Care to guess at what _day_ it is in May?" prompted Fiyero.

"…Friday?" assumed Elphaba. In all honestly, a Beetle who'd spent his entire life under a rock would have a better guess at it than her.

"Sunday," Fiyero replied. "Sunday, the ninth. Mother's day."

"Oh," Elphaba said, surprised. "Is it really?"

Fiyero made a consenting noise and kissed her collarbone, where it snuck out from under the robes. "Happy mother's day…Mommy." He looked up and grinned.

"Oh, don't!" Elphaba said. "I'm not a mother yet! You'll be made a father more than likely by father's day, but not me for another year!"

"In Arjiki tradition, lifespan is measured from the moment of—" started Fiyero.

"Yes, yes!" cried Elphaba, knowing he was spouting tradition now more to annoy her. "It's measured from conception and not from birth, therefore I'm already a mother made _I know_! But love, I'm not sure if I'm ready to be a mother just yet. A few more weeks, is all I need. I haven't been called mother yet! Not Mommy, or Mama, or Mom. And I prefer to hear if for the first time from the mouth of our baby; not yours."

"All right, all right," laughed Fiyero. He kissed her again. "I give up."

"And rightly so," replied Elphaba. "An argument with Elphaba Tiggular is one not to be won…"

Fiyero laughed, and kissed her face in several places. And later, if she finally gave in and allowed him to love her for the first time in a few months, he wouldn't tell her he'd won _that_ argument. Or when their son was born, and she made the slightest of faces when she informed the doctor their baby's name was Ael, he would hold his tongue and not tell her that he'd won once again.

Because her hot-headed independence was one thing he loved about her. And though slow and steady might with the race, Elphaba was smart enough not to stop until she won.

Most of the time. Sometimes, her gravity-defying, righteous logic, if that's what you call it, would come back to earth. Whether pulled back there by some sense she needed to see, or by something more innocent. Such as the movement of her own child underneath her green skin.

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End Story; TBC

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A/N: So did you like it? I pray I kept them both well in character! If not…I'm terribly sorry!

And, uhm…the "Traditional Arjiki garb"? I might have...baseditoffaSnuggie.

-Lynn


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